


A Date with Demise

by laminatedroses



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, M/M, Private Investigators, probably, tags added as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 22:30:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15650208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laminatedroses/pseuds/laminatedroses
Summary: A brilliant detective with a past better left forgotten. A wealthy, mysterious artist in search of his brother. And a rain-swept Detroit, flooded with conspiracy. Caught in the twists and turns of fate, this may be Detective Connor Anderson’s hardest case yet.





	A Date with Demise

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Silver Linings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15610389) by [MintChocolateLeaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintChocolateLeaves/pseuds/MintChocolateLeaves). 



> Characters here are based off MintChocolateChip's Youtuber au, and thus will be slightly different from DBH canon. Go read it, it's amazing
> 
> Title taken from the song of the same name, by insaneintherainmusic.

It was half past midnight, and Detroit was drowning.

A bit of an exaggeration, perhaps, but one he found rather apt, as he watched a cluster of drunken revelers stagger and squelch their way from one awning to another. Their stumbling reflections wobbled amidst the pouring rain, with only the dull orange glow of the streetlights to light their way. Water scattered to the sides from the infrequent passing of cars, only to flood back into the street to pool in darkened potholes and disappear down already-overflowing sewer drains.

April showers were meant to bring May flowers, but so far, all he’d seen was rain.

His gaze drifted back to the stacks of documents sitting innocently on his desk. Without trouble coming to seek him out, Detective Connor Anderson went out looking for it himself. The last had left a swathe of destruction a mile wide in Jimmy’s Bar, one that he had only barely scraped himself out of.

 _That_ was when Hank had slammed his way into his office with boxes upon boxes of old case files.

 _“You need an invitation or somethin’?”_ He had grumbled. _“There’s more in the car. Get.”_

Hank had probably saved Detroit’s myriad of seedy bars from millions in property damage, but he had left Connor’s office in a disarray that hadn’t been seen since the trenches of World War II. Tacked up on the walls were scraps of crumpled paper, the red-inked rambling of his own circuitous thoughts painted like blood against the yellowing wallpaper. Sheaves of unused paper sat at the edge of his open drawer, one strong breeze away from scattering across the floor. And, of course, the boxes and boxes of files currently occupying every single other horizontal surface of his office.

Hmm. Maybe it was time to clean the place up a little.

_Knock, knock, knock._

...Or perhaps never.

“Come in,” Connor said.

It was the eyes that he noticed first. One blue, one green—and yet most remarkable for their intensity. Connor had seen his share of tearful spouses and grieving families, people from all broken walks of life. Not a person walked through his doors without having lost something first. After all, why else would you hire a private investigator?

And yet...

Connor straightened up. No doubt those eyes meant business.

“Hello,” he said. “How can I help?”

The man’s gaze snapped to him, away from the clutter strewn across his office.

“I’m looking for a… Detective Connor Anderson?” He asked hesitantly.

Well. That was disheartening. So sue him, _maybe_ he was a little disheveled. He’d been in the office for over eighteen hours. That was certainly grounds for removing his tie. And undoing some of the buttons at his throat. And maybe considering going to bed under his desk.

In his defense, it was pouring buckets and buckets of squalling cats and dogs. There wasn’t a goddamn chance he was going out there in his nice outfit.

Though that didn’t seem to stop this mysterious stranger. Beneath the heavy, navy overcoat, he was dressed for a night on the town. Against his will, Connor’s eyes followed the crisp grey lines of the man’s waistcoat down, down…

...to the shining silver chain, trailing languidly from his front and vanishing beneath his overcoat.

What? He could be professional when he needed to be.

_Clearly wealthy, yet willing to step out of the comfort of his own home during what might possibly be the worst storm we’ve had so far. Interesting._

His quick examination concluded, he let his eyes drift back up to the stranger’s polychromatic eyes.

“You’re looking at him,” Connor said with a wink. “Please, sit. What can I do for you?”

The other man sat down with a sigh. “I... need to find someone. We believe he’s stolen several items of great value to us.”

Connor quirked an eyebrow. “And you came to me, and not the police.”

“He’s my brother.”

Connor paused. Leaned back slowly. “I see.”

“We think he’s involved in something dangerous,” he said. “He’s likely in over his head. We just want him back safe—the paintings don’t matter, really.”

_Wealthy painter, with a disreputable brother. Where have I heard of this before?_

_...Ah._

“Well, Mr. Manfred,” Connor watched as he startled, eyes widened in surprise. _That’s right. I read the news sometimes._ “I’ll take the case.”

“Wh–” He paused, then he chuckled. “Well. I thought I’d need to do more convincing. Thank you, Detective Anderson.”

“No need for that,” he replied. “Just Connor’s fine. And… I have a few brothers, myself. I know how they can get. Tell me about him.”

His eyes shut briefly as he took a deep breath. “Leonard… has a bit of a drug problem. Red Ice. That’s the long and short of it.” He heaved a sigh. “We caught him trying to steal some paintings to pawn, and Carl—my father, that is—lost his temper. Leonard stormed off, and a few days later, he and the paintings were gone. We haven’t seen him since then.”

“And it’s been…?”

“Four days. He’s always had a tendency to go off the grid, and we thought it’d be the same routine as before. But this morning, we received this in the mail.”

From the inside of his overcoat, he pulled out a small envelope. It was pure white, the only spot of color being the vibrant red wax seal, an angular symbol like the roots of a tree stamped into it. No other identifiers. Connor took it and carefully lifted the seal.

As far as ransom notes went, this one was surprisingly sophisticated. The paper was thick and alabaster-white, clearly of an expensive stock. In the flickering orange lamp-light of his office, the ink appeared black, until Connor tilted the page slightly. Caught at an angle, it burned a deep, blood red.

 _We have your brother within our custody,_ it declared in an elegant, looping scrawl. _No harm shall befall him if you follow our instructions carefully, and any others you may receive. Should you disobey our instructions, however, his life is forfeit, and you will never see him again._

_You have one week._

The rest of the note was oddly standard, despite its elaborate presentation. Don’t tell the police, give us the money, the drop-off’s here. At the very bottom, the same symbol from the wax seal was pressed into the page in the same blood-red ink.

“Odd that they’d go to such lengths,” Connor wondered out loud. “It’s like they expect media attention, to make it so…”

“Theatrical?”

Connor pointed, nodding. “That. There’s really no reason to have _red ink_ , of all things.”

“Could be a sense of flare,” Mr. Manfred suggested.

“That,” Connor conceded, “is true. But look at this symbol. Most ransom notes I know of are unsigned, with a small percentage signed with a generic name. A symbol? They want this note to be seen, so that they can be seen.”

Mr. Manfred leaned forwards, frowning. “But they’ve asked for no contact with the police,” he pointed out.

“It may be that Leonard isn’t their only target,” Connor said. “Are you keeping this note on your person?”

“You think they have their sights on me?”

Connor hummed, tapping idly on the edge of his desk. “I think you should be careful, Mr. Manfred. If they want attention, and for this letter to reach the police, they may try to harm you. What you have with you will become evidence, after all.”

“I can keep myself safe,” he said firmly.

“I should hope so,” Connor replied, one eyebrow quirked up. “You made it here without incident, didn’t you?”

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “It’s all this rain,” Mr. Manfred said evenly. “No one likes being soaked.”

His overcoat was bone dry, and had been since he’d entered.

Connor ignored the slight uptick in his heart rate, and pushed away his curiosity. _Unless it has something to do with the case, it’s not my business._

_...Oooh, but I want to know!_

“Is there anything more you need?” Mr. Manfred asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Ah, not unless you know of the places he usually frequents.” Connor rushed to reply. “A picture, too.”

He pulled a photo from his overcoat and passed it over. A candid photo of a younger—judging by the photo’s date—Leonard Manfred stared back at him, mouth opening to speak, or perhaps to laugh, judging by his outstretched hand reaching to push a younger Mr. Manfred.

Maybe there was a tension between the brothers now, but it was clear that it wasn’t always this way.

“That’s the most recent picture we have,” he said apologetically. “As for his haunts, I only know of one.” He smiled wryly. “I’ve scraped him off the ground there too many times not to. Nemo’s, off Griswold Street.”

“I know the place.” He cast a glance at the clock, half-buried on his desk. One in the morning—nowhere near closing time.

“It should still be open,” Connor said. “So, if that’s all, Mr. Manfred–”

“Markus, please. I think we can skip the formalities.” He smiled, eyes twinkling with humour.

It was the first genuine smile Connor had seen since he’d stepped into his office. His eyes almost seemed to light up, their colors a vibrant green-blue despite the dark. The dim glow of the lamp cast his features in a soft gold, highlighting the line of his jaw and the light scattering of freckles.

Against his will, Connor’s heart skipped a beat.

“Markus,” he said levelly, betraying not a hint of his racing heart.

He stood up, casting a quick glance out the window. The falling sheets of rain from before had finally calmed to a light drizzle, softening the edges of the city’s neon lights.

“If I may,” Markus spoke up. “I’d like to come with you, if that’s alright.”

Connor hesitated. “It could be dangerous,” he hedged.

Markus met his eyes steadily. “He’s my brother.”

Who was Connor to argue with those eyes?

He pulled on his grey overcoat, nodding to Markus. “Then let’s not waste time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fake Author’s Notes:
> 
> Connor’s wearing [this](https://cdn.lookastic.com/looks/overcoat-waistcoat-dress-shirt-original-4702.jpg), and Markus is wearing [this](https://cdn.lookastic.com/looks/overcoat-waistcoat-long-sleeve-shirt-original-4619.jpg). i fucking know, right????? god save my little gay heart
> 
> also we don’t know jack shit about Leo so i’m making up random stuff to make the plot move _please don’t sue me_
> 
> \---  
>    
> Real Author’s Notes:
> 
> that’s right i’m writing an au of an au, fanfic for a fanfic. davey cage can’t stop me now, hell yea
> 
> also from this chapter on, i won’t write the fake/real an thing, for the sake of immersion. just know that the top is the in-universe laminatedroses writing, and bottom is this-universe laminatedroses.
> 
> have fun!! hope you enjoy reading!!! ♥♥♥


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